


Mephistopheles Gives a Pep Talk

by veereble_atsim_iali



Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: But inspiration dried up, Gen, Short, Was Originally the start of a longer fic, it still works as a drabble so I'm posting it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26166766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veereble_atsim_iali/pseuds/veereble_atsim_iali
Summary: Sock treats his boss like he's his therapist. Mephistopheles finds he doesn't mind all that much. Drabble.
Relationships: Mephistopheles & Napoleon Maxwell Sowachowski | Sock
Kudos: 22





	Mephistopheles Gives a Pep Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Like the tags says, this was originally the start of a longer kinkmeme fill. It's been sitting in my google docs for a few years (maybe closer to four) but I haven't felt up to writing at all. I was reading it over and decided to post it since it felt pretty complete.

There were just a few human concepts that would forever escape Mephistopheles for one reason or another, but time was probably the most prevalent. So much of their lives were structured around time that even in death they were unable to let it go. To make things go easier, for both himself and the souls now in his ‘tender care,’ he’d learn a few phrases to keep those working under him happy- or at least complacent. Things like ‘nine to five’ and ‘weekends off’ were thrown around since it seemed to make everyone else happy and kept them from being a general pain to Mephistopheles (there had been talk of a union and strikes and he couldn’t be bothered to fight it).

But ever since he’d hired Sock he’d gotten a vague sense of time against his will, mainly because every time the kid got off his shift he would show up at his office to sulk and complain. It really got under the kid’s skin when Jonathan ignored him and, against all logic, the kid got it into his head that Mephistopheles was the perfect person to complain to.

Jonathan won’t take off his headphones and listen to him. Jonathan was being mean. Jonathan was dating someone from his school. Jonathan wouldn’t talk to him after his boyfriend broke up with him because Sock made him seem crazy.

It went on and on and on. And yet Mephistopheles never told Sock to leave him alone. No, instead he found himself offering advice and comfort because he had developed a bit of soft spot for the kid; he was just so likeable! And he hadn’t lied when he said the kid reminded him a bit of himself, which probably made him a bit too invested in whether or not Sock succeeded. And maybe, sort of, kind of protective of Sock to the point he wouldn’t hear another demon trash talk the kid about how bad he was at his job.

(Dear Providence, when did he become a dad? He hadn’t signed up for this!)

So, he was a bit concerned when Sock started his usual visit by crawling under his desk to curl up into a ball.

“Kiddo?” Mephistopheles prodded him with the toe of his shoe. A frown crossed his face when all Sock did was groan and curl up even more to tuck his legs into his sweater vest. “What’s wrong?”

“I give up,” Sock announced and turtled up even more by bringing his arms inside his vest as well. “Jonathan will never kill himself so I quit!”

“You can’t quit.”

Sock scrunched his nose and glared up at Mephistopheles with defiance. “Just watch me! This is me quitting!”

“No,” he drawled back with a grin like an oil slick, “you literally can’t quit. I own your soul for the rest of eternity.” Mephistopheles shrugged and leaned back into his chair. “Only I get to decide whether you work or not.”

“Oh.” There was a beat of silence and Sock, well, he didn’t look upset about the news- no, it was more a look of mild concern with his brows pinched together. “I don’t want to be fired.”

“You really don’t,” Mephistopheles agreed. With a squeal of wheels moving, he pushed his chair back to give Sock room to climb out from under his desk. “Get out here and tell me what’s eating at you this time.”

Begrudgingly, the teen crawled out with an ungraceful flail of his limbs, then floated over to take a seat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. He crossed his arms, uncrossed them, and then sunk low in his seat with a sigh. “He just-” he tossed his arms up as if that said it all “-and he doesn’t care. At all.”

Mephistopheles leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk, making a vague ‘go on’ noise.

“Like, he’ll always be okay because he doesn’t care that I’m haunting him or that people think he’s crazy.” Sock sounded half annoyed and half impressed. “He just shrugs it off like it doesn’t mean anything,” he grumbled and his voice faded into something even quieter, “like I don’t matter.”

“Yeah, well, what does he know?” The man scoffed with clear derision. “I mean come on, he thinks there’s no such thing as Hell but we both know that’s not true.”

Sock suddenly surged forward to slap his hands on the desk, a fever bright gleam in his eyes. “But that’s not all! I was talking to the other demons--”

“Oh boy.”

“--and none of them have had assignments that lasted more than three months. I’ve been haunting Jonathan for a year!” Sock’s expression could only be summed up as intense.

“And that’s,” Mephistopheles began slowly, both mocking and hesitant, “more?”

“It’s a lot more,” Sock nearly wailed and buried his face in his hands. There were no tears- Sock wasn’t that sort of kid- but he was still upset and wanted to hide it. After a few seconds of silence, he finally spoke up in a much quieter voice. “I really am bad at my job, huh?”

Minutely, Mephistopheles’ expression relaxed into something softer than he would be comfortable displaying and edged with concern. “Hey, relax Sowachowski. It’s your first go at this and, yeah-” a crooked grin crossed his face “- you might not win any awards at the end, but you’ll only get better with time. Cheer up, sad sack.” 

Sock peeked out from between his fingers. “Really?”

“Really really,” he reassured and patted Sock’s shoulder in a vaguely sympathetic manner. “Combs will crack.” His eyes darted away as he thought for a second, then added, “Eventually.”


End file.
